


A Change of Sentiment

by MrMissMrsRandom



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Alternate End to the Final Holy War, Building a relationship through letter exchange, F/M, Suicide Attempt, house arrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMissMrsRandom/pseuds/MrMissMrsRandom
Summary: Ishtar finds her perspective on how the world is supposed to work go off-kilter.
Relationships: Ishtar/Celice | Seliph, Past Ishtar/Julius
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	A Change of Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InkSplatterM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkSplatterM/gifts).



It was only when she saw the last pegasus fall from the sky that Ishtar started to feel dread. Not enough to retreat, for what would await behind her? Prince Julius in a too-heavy crown, wearing the same too-wide smile. Despite how hard she tried, the boy she had loved had never returned to her. What else was left for but to try and kill as many people that destroyed her family? Took away her brother, her father, her mother, and made her cousin turn her back against her? 

So when a knight on a horse began galloping toward her line of sight, she readied herself, opening Mjolnir and starting the channel the wrath of the heavens into herself. 

Yet instead of raising his blade, the knight called out her name. “Lady Ishtar!” 

It shouldn’t be odd for a soldier to know her name, she was well known, and she had faced the forces of the Liberation Army several times before. Yet the knight stopped just out of range, and it made it impossible to attack without giving up her elevated position on the ridge. 

“You know my name, so let me know yours before I strike you down.” 

“My name is Seliph!” The young man said, removing his helmet and letting a cascade of hair fall down, and Ishtar nearly flinched away. Even from this distance, she could see the similarities in his features with Julius. Here he was, the usurper prince. “Please, I beg that you stand down! There is no need for you to do this.”

The shock of utter foolishness at such a statement only fueled Ishtar’s anger. “No need? Tell me, Sir Seliph-- did you give such a choice to my brother, or my father, or my mother? Why am I so different? Did Tine put you up to this?” 

“Tine vouched for your character, but I make this offer willingly,” Seliph answered. “You helped rescue those children from Prince Julius. The future he-- that Loptous envisions is not the one you desire, is it?”

“It is not about what I desire,” Ishtar hissed. “No matter what I do it doesn’t change the fact that you murdered my family, that you plan to murder the man I love--”

And that no matter how many good deeds she had done, she could never erase the damage she caused. 

“Lady Ishtar, please--”

“Still your tongue,” Ishtar said, raising Mjolnir out. She didn’t care if he wasn’t in the ideal range. All she had to do was enact her will farther. “And feel the wrath of the goddess of thunder.” 

The familiar pool of wrath welled inside her, rising out from her stomach and into her invocation. She was not Ishtar, princess of Friege. She was not Lord Julius’s betrothed, his intended partner on Grannvale’s throne. She was but a conduit for Mjolnir in order to enact the destruction of her enemies. 

Seliph’s steed charges forward, and Ishtar wondered if the boy before her was truly insane, thinking that a sword, even the holy weapon Tyrfing which granted illustrious power, was not enough to save the traitor Sigurd when Valflame caught him. The only reason Emperor Arvis fell to it was that he was weak and wanted to die, but she would not allow… allow it…

Sorcery was at work upon her, and she turned from Seliph for a moment to see Tine, holding up a Sleep Staff.

_ “No…!”  _ Ishtar wanted to roar, but all it turned into was a whisper, as Mjolnir’s wrath dimmed, and she fell off the incline, straight into Seliph’s grasp. The last thing she saw was his apologetic expression, and the last thought she had was wanting to spit in his face. 

* * *

When Ishtar awoke, it was to gaze at the canopy of an unfamiliar bed in a quite likely unfamiliar room. She found that she was still in her war robes, only her boots having been removed, and her cloak settled over her for warmth. All her books and staves, including Mjolnir, were gone. 

So, she was a prisoner now. Was a room better than a dungeon though? 

She sat up, listening for any noises behind the curtain. After a minute passed and she heard none, she drew it back and climbed out of the bed, wrapping her cloak back around her for warmth and comfort, then walked towards the large window in the room. At first she thought perhaps she could make her escape that way, but then the height made her rethink her plans. She must be in a tower of sorts-- 

And then she saw the castle gate, now strangely left open, even if there were guards posted, even more strangely in familiar colors. Ishtar realized she was back in Friege Castle. 

Despite it being her ancestral home, Ishtar had not lived in the castle since she was a very young child. Most of her time growing up was spent in Alster. The only time she ever spent after that was as a place for vacations, to rest outside of the densely populated Bellhalla after balls and war meetings, before they returned to the Manster District. During that time, while Ishtar played with her brother in the spacious gardens, her father would oversee the land and converse with the castellan. Whenever she went out, people would smile at her and give her sweets or flowers. It made her first think how different it was from how the common folk in Alster treated her when she interacted with them. Perhaps that should have been the first sign that something was amiss. 

A knock at the door broke her out of her thoughts, making her turn from the window, fingers tightening against the windowsill. If it was a threat, she would throw herself out the window. No matter what, she would not be used as a tool or shown off as a war trophy. 

“Ishtar? It’s me,” Tine’s voice called out softly. “I brought you something to eat.” 

It was probably a trick, but the familiar voice made her finger unclench. “... You can bring it in.”

The door opened, and Tine walked in with a tray and it looks like some other clothes over her arm, but a boy was holding the door open for her, expression tense and wary. He had long silver hair that gave away his heritage in an instant. So. Aunt Tailtiu did have a son. 

Tine set the tray down on a table in the corner, then went to the bed to fold out her clothes, all while the boy still held the door open, and Ishtar stood at the windowsill. 

Tine looked back to the boy, voice strangely more assured than Ishtar had ever heard her sound. “Arthur, I’ll come back to the infirmary in a little while, I promise.” 

The boy, Arthur, frowned harder, swaying between his feet, before he nodded. “Yell if you need me.”

He then closed the door, leaving them alone. 

“... Charming fellow.” Ishtar muttered.

Tine smiled in apology, as if Ishtar was a guest treated rudely and not a prisoner given preferential lodgings. “He’s a little overprotective.”

“As he should be,” She pushed herself off the windowsill, sitting down and tucking into the meal. Even if she was starving, she used proper table manners, and retained her composure. “Even without my weapons, I could still be dangerous.”

Tine frowned. “I’m… I’m sorry, for what I did.”

“Not sorry enough not to do it,” Ishtar replied after finishing her chewing. “You still abducted me from the battlefield, so now my only plan of attack is to die in captivity.” She then took another bite, staring straight at Tine as she did.

“I will not allow that to happen,” Tine said. “It might take time, but you will have freedom, Ishtar. You deserve that after everything you have gone through.” 

It was still so innocent Ishtar nearly wanted to pat her head like she had when they were children. “Tine, in this world, it is not always about what is deserved. Most of the time it never settles on what is right and wrong. All that you have is authority based on what power you have, and whoever has more in a situation will be the one in the right.” 

“Ishtar--”

“--Thank you for the meal, and the clothes,” Ishtar replied. “Now, please leave me be.”

She focused on the plate in front of her, until she heard Tine stand up and turn the key, locking her in once more. Once she was sure she was gone, Ishtar ate ravenously with her hands, focusing her thoughts elsewhere.

She would keep watch on the castle gates. It might take time, but Julius would come for her. There was no way that he would lose, even against an entire army. 

* * *

A month had passed before she saw someone she recognized enter through the gate, and it was not her lord. 

“Ishtar? Sir Seliph wants to speak with you,” Tine called behind the door.

“He may do so. Enter,” Ishtar said, still sitting by the windowsill, waiting for news. Perhaps they had failed, and Seliph retreated back to use her as a bargaining piece for some hostages. Not that Julius would ever allow hostages to live, but she realized it would be better for her if she kept that information to herself. 

The usurper must have come in a hurry, as he still wore most of his armor, boots tracking mud on the floor. His eyebrows were drawn together, and his lips thinned from how he clenched his jaw. Julius would never make such a pathetic expression in front of the enemy. 

And then his mouth opened, spewing forth the most egregious lie she had ever heard. “Lady Ishtar, I am afraid I must bring you the news that Prince Julius... has died.” 

Ishtar knew it was a lie. It had to be a lie. No one could defeat Julius. Everyone was merely a bug that Julius would easily squash with the heel of his boot. He showed her that so many times before, and that could not change. 

So why did she feel her legs give out, having to clutch at the windowsill for comfort? How her body turned, hand fumbling towards the handle--

“Ishtar, stop!” Tine’s arms were around her, and it was only then that she began to fight back like a wildcat, screaming profanities at his lie. 

Seliph knelt down, hands reaching out for her, and she slapped them away, imagining them covered in blood. 

And then, suddenly, everything faded away again, and the last thing Ishtar thought was of a time when she was in the gardens of Bellhalla, and Julius with flowers in his hair ran up to her holding a bouquet and shyly asked her if one day he could be her bride.

* * *

They moved her to another room, one without windows. For a few days she refused to eat, but soon hunger outweighed her pride. She never experienced what it was like to go hungry. It took her a week after that to pull herself up and tend to her cleanliness. She could not permit herself to live in squalor, not when that was what was waiting for her anyway. It was better to face her demise with whatever dignity she could muster. 

She was escorted to the study, still mostly covered in sheets to await her father who would never return. Tine and Seliph were waiting, and it was there they began to discuss war reparations, and her future. 

“Representatives from the Manster District do not request financial recompense for the Friege occupation,” Seliph explained. “However, Miletos demands to reopen trade routes, and that children be returned to their families if they are still living.”

“And if their families are not?” Ishtar asked. Because even though she had still loved her, she knew what kind of person her mother was.

“They are staying in the chapel as of now,” Tine replied. “I wanted to invite them to live in the castle, but I wanted to wait for your permission.

Again, their reasonings are unbelievably baffling. “Then let it be done. It makes no difference to me.” 

“It does, you are the head of House Friege now,” Tine answered.

“How can a political prisoner be the working head of anything?” Ishtar said, growing more aggravated. “I am under house arrest and unable to leave the castle. I rule this duchy, but I have no authority to look over my lands. It would make more sense just to hand leadership over to Tine, and name me what I am.”

Seliph frowned, folding his hands in his lap. He looked more like an overgrown schoolboy than a conqueror and emperor. “Maybe that would be how this ends in another time, but not now. I do not want Grannvale to return to a time of unrepentant slaughter and fear ever again, and I will need people like you to change things.”

“Me? I was betrothed to the crown prince. Everything he did I was either witness to or involved. What hope is there in this glorious future you imagine with me in it?”

“Because you have a kind heart.” Tine told her, and she wanted to laugh as much as she wanted to cry. Goodness, the world would eat them alive, or twist them into monsters while all she could do is watch. “So many could have done something, but didn’t because they were afraid.”

“Meanwhile, you were at the epicenter. You knew the extent of Julius’s… of Loptous’s power, and you tried to rescue those children that would have had horrible fates if not for your actions.”

“Emperor Arvis helped.”

Ishtar got a brief sense of satisfaction how Seliph’s face flinched at his name. 

“Yes, but you still agreed, even if it put you in danger. As time continues, I’m sure that I can argue for a further release, and until then I know you will be the leader that Friege needs.”

Ishtar took a deep breath and looked out the window. It was unlocked. If she wanted to, she could make a rush forward, and sail out before either could stop her. 

Instead, she turned to them, and gave a brief nod. 

Both of their faces lit up.

“Thank you, Lady Ishtar,” Seliph stood up and bowed. “If you are amenable, I ask that we maintain correspondence. Lady Tine will serve as an ambassador on occasion in Bellhalla, but I also would like to hear how you are doing.”

Ephemeral pleasantries, he was getting a grasp of etiquette required in the court at least. “The emperor is free to do what he wants.”

* * *

_ Dear Lady Friege-- _

Ishtar gazed down at her desk for several minutes, dumbfounded. 

The madman actually sent her a letter! 

She had opened it without realizing what it was, and now she couldn’t just throw it in the trash or return it. How irritating. 

Well, now that she had opened it, the only course of action was to read it, so she set the rest of her paperwork aside, and unfolded the rest of the paper. 

And thus began their correspondence.

* * *

**_Imperial Year 778_ **

_ Your Excellency, _

_ Thank you for the letter and inquiries about mine and my cousin’s health. Things are going well. The castellan is kind and willing to teach me about the more immersive parts of running a castle. It is surprisingly more difficult than my lessons in magic, but perhaps its because I don’t have as natural an inclination toward it. At least accounts are relatively straightforward. Tine will be heading for Bellhalla in a few weeks with the annual tax. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Ishtar Euphrasie Friege. _

* * *

_ Lady Friege,  _

_ Thank you for your response! I hope this letter finds you in good health, and I wish Lady Tine safe travels. It has been somewhat hectic in Bellhalla, and some of the lords are still getting used to my presence. Some courtiers say that in order to ingratiate myself, I should stop wearing my clothes in the Isaachian style. It may sound harsh, but I don’t see how wearing the pauldrons of a Grannvale-style cape will make me that more appealing as a ruler.  _

_ Your friend, _

_ Seliph Baldos Chalphy  _

* * *

**_Imperial Year 779_ **

_ Your Excellency, _

_ Is that discussion of fashion an insult to my battle costume? Unbelievable. For that I ate all the candied plums Tine prepared to send with this letter and I am leaving sugar stains as evidence. If it is Lord Fitzgerald, pay him no mind. He just turned 40 and he’s been thinning since he was 20. He is just envious of your hair. I say if they are sputtering about something as trivial as your dress habits, you are doing a fine enough job. However, it would be best to still wear the recommended attire during official events. Though the lords view you as an outsider, the people cannot. _

_ Regards, _

_ Ishtar Euphrasie Friege.  _

* * *

Time passed, seasons changed, and life, despite the war, despite the death, went on.

Ishtar found herself growing fond of peace. 

* * *

**_Imperial Year 781_ **

_ Ishtar, _

_ If I offend you with my response, please cast this letter into the fire and I’ll never write another word of it. We have talked a great deal on family, you about Lady Tine, and I about Julia. However, I have never asked you what your brother was like. I would like to know if you are comfortable with sharing. _

_ Warm regards, _

_ Seliph  _

* * *

_ Your Excellency, _

Ishtar crossed out the greeting and ripped away the now useless part of the letter. Their letters had moved away from formality a long time ago, and to backtrack into old habits would immediately put Seliph in a sense of unease. And yet, how could she talk about Ishtore? Her and Tine rarely spoke of him, a tacit agreement not to jab at old wounds for fear that beneath the gauze they had festered. 

Seliph was the one to kill Ishtore and his love, Liza. Or at least, they were killed through his orders. It was not a personal vendetta: Melgen was simply in the way of their battle path, and the quickest route to get to Alster. The choice was strategic, not personal. 

Even still, ink dripped from her quill, proof of her prolonged silence. 

* * *

_ Sir Seliph, _

_ I did not throw your letter into the fire if you are afraid of that. Let me start expressing my feelings by telling you something I notice when I look at your face: I saw Julius in your features. Well, perhaps it is better to say that I saw Empress Deirdre in you, but I knew Julius far longer than I knew her. It has been some time since I’ve seen either of your faces, so I cannot pinpoint what it was, only that it made me pause.  _

_ Ishtore was my twin. We came into this world not long after each other. However, save for our hair and our height, the nursemaid could easily tell us apart from day one. Even though we came into this world together, we always knew that we were different people. And yet, there were many times growing up that I was jealous of him still. When our father took him out for horse rides where I could not, when my mother coddled him yet instructed me ruthlessly to act like a proper lady. These feelings built up, until my holy blood manifested, and claimed me as the rightful heir of the bloodline.  _

_ I thought things would be different, and that perhaps Ishtore would grow to look on me with disdain, even jealousy. But he never did. At least, he never expressed it. He was happy not being Mjolnir’s next wielder. He always told me that I was far more suited to that responsibility. I used to think that he was just naturally carefree, but now, I realize how hard it is, to live your life without resentment and anger swallowing you. Ishtore must have worked every day never to let it consume him. Sometimes I wish he was the one that lived, but then I realize that it is just me not wanting to live with that guilt. Why should I still feel that way, when from the moment we were born, the world saw us as separate people instead of a pair?  _

_ Either way, I don’t know if this cleared anything up for you. Perhaps next time you should send me a portrait so I can properly examine your face. _

_ Ishtar _

* * *

Their correspondence continued on as normal after that, until one day a large wrapped package was delivered to her study. 

“It’s from Bellhalla!” Tine said with excitement as Ishtar helped her unpack the wooden box, and then the large tapestry surrounding it. “Addressed for you, but there doesn’t seem to be a letter attached…”

After a minute, Ishtar lifted a sheet that exposed a pair of dark blue eyes. 

“...Oh,” Something bubbled up inside her unexpectedly, until her head fell back and she let out a cackling laugh. “Oh,  _ oh _ , I can’t believe he took my request seriously!” 

Tine watched in confusion as she collapsed into a chair giggling like a lunatic, but then finished unwrapping and made a small gasp. “You asked Sir Seliph for a portrait? This big?!” 

“No, silly, not this big!” Ishtar sat up, getting a better look. The frame was decidedly large, but not too unwieldy: it came up to hips when lifted from the floor. “Goodness, this is larger than the painting father commissioned for my official betrothal to Prince Julius!” 

“... Perhaps he wants you to see him in the most favorable light possible.” Tine said. 

“Hm? What do you mean by that?”

Tine gave a small sigh, looking at her as if she was one of the children in their care, and Ishtar felt even more confused. “You will understand eventually. Do you want me to find someone to hang it up?”

“No, let’s rest it against this shelf for the moment.”

Later that night, Ishtar sat down in her dressing gown on the rug. She had lit enough candles that it was filled with a warm glow that accented the oils used in the portrait. It was not a full-body one, but it did show his face and torso. He looked nervous, but since there was no discrepancy with the brush strokes he must have remained still. 

The more she looked, the more she saw of his face. The first things that drew her in after the color of his eyes was their shape: similar to Julius, when his face was not drawn into a sneer. Their heart-shaped face and cheekbones were the same, but then as she looked further, she began to see the differences. Julius had a pointed chin, Seliph’s was more square. Julius always had his ears covered by a curtain of his hair, while Seliph’s ears peeked out from his locks. 

Her fingertip reached out and delicately traced over his nose. This definitely was not Julius’s, but how it settled a little off-kilter from the rest of a relatively dainty face made it seem… endearing. Her fingertip went down, and traced his mouth, before she snatched it away.

Oh no, this was terrible. 

* * *

_ Dear Lady Ishtar, _

_ I am sorry to bother you, but I have not received a reply from you in the post for two months. There are many duties you have to attend to, and perhaps this correspondence has taken too much of your time already, but I _

-There are droplets of ink on the page, before it continues.-

_ I would like to hear from you when it is most convenient, if that is not too bold of me to ask. _

_ Yours, _

_ Seliph _

* * *

Tine began nervously pulling at her gloves. “You would like me to... what?”

“Paint me. Or sketch me.” Ishtar said as she set up the easel. “You were always a better painter than I was during our lessons.”

“But, wouldn’t you like a more experienced artist for your official portrait?”

“It won’t be an official portrait. Just something to send to a friend,” Ishtar replied, sitting down on the stool she prepared. “Besides, you were the only person to ever catch my best features.”

That made Tine giggle. “Very well. I will do my best.”

As Tine readied the paints and sharpened the pencil for the initial sketch, Ishtar looked over the letter again, rubbing her thumb over the dots of ink. 

Perhaps it was looking for a sign when there was none. Perhaps she was ruining a perfectly good friendship by doing this, not to mention several more favorable political marriages. 

But, she had decided here this sort of sentiment was not one for duty with her. 

* * *

_ Dear Sir Seliph, _

_ This letter comes with a portrait Tine made of me. It may not match the ornamentation of your frame, but I think it does great justice to my character.  _

_ However, if you wish to compare the portrait with the genuine article, Castle Friege is always welcome to you, so long as you notify us with the proper appointment. _

_ I await your response, _

_ Ishtar  _

* * *

The response came not on his regular stationery, but more of a flimsily put together scroll of parchment, tied together with a hair ribbon and smudged wax pressed down messily. 

_ Ishtar, _

_ I will be arriving to castle Friege in the next four days, though by the time you receive this, it might be as soon as tomorrow, or it got lost and fell in the mud to trampled on. Either way, I’m very sorry this is not the etiquette you taught me, but I really, really want to see you. _

_ Seliph _

Ishtar laughed again, holding the parchment close to her chest.

Perhaps it was foolish, and Seliph had infected her with it through his stubbornness, but at least they could be fools together. She rushed to make preparations.

* * *

Tine was the one to guide Seliph into the side garden. Ishtar was standing by the table, dressed in a dress the color of heliotropes, complimenting the white violets that began to grow. At least, that was what Tine told her the color was supposed to do. She wasn’t that versed in color theory. 

When Seliph’s eyes brightened when he saw her though, Ishtar would give her cousin credit on the choice of dress. He walked towards her, giving a formal bow. She responded with a bow of her own and then held out her hand for him to shake. How strange, that they no longer wore gloves.

When their skin touched, Ishtar felt the calluses and scarring of battle, and Seliph would see the burns and discoloring across her fingers, and yet, both touches were warm and solid. More felt could be said in such a handshake than a full-on embrace.

“Hello, Sir Seliph,” Ishtar spoke first. “Please, have a seat.” 


End file.
